


saudade

by fairyslush



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, M/M, Moving On, in which minhyun is a star witch and seongwoo is a star he has created for very idiotic purposes, star witches au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 17:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyslush/pseuds/fairyslush
Summary: (n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost.alternatively, minhyun creates a star to cope with the death of his lover.for onghwang week day two : stardust.





	saudade

**Author's Note:**

> for better context, please go [here](https://twitter.com/onghwangweek/status/1006551845555171328).
> 
> this is an au where minhyun is a star witch, a sort of nymph / being born from a star. in the magical economy of seoul, star witches make little stars that can take any shape or form, and they help those who have requested them, and give them company.

“what seems to be the problem?” minhyun asks, eyes crinkled into tiny little crescents.

jinyoung fidgets before him, his eyes trained on the visitor— _visitor?_ —wiping the floor in the living room. for all he knows, _he_ shouldn’t be here, let alone walking the earth.

“that—who— _what_ —“the young ward stumbles over his articles, unsure of the proper question to ask. “is—it’s not a lunar holiday today, is it?”

star witches are, _after all,_ only allowed to leave their posts when the moon is at its fullest.

a chuckle heralds minhyun’s answer. “silly _‘nyoungie_.”

jinyoung abhors that nickname, even if it’s coming from his most beloved master.

“he’s a _star_ ,” minhyun continues, casual, making it sound like making a star that is the mirror image of one’s dead lover is some sort of unspoken tradition between celestial beings. the star—seongwoo—cocks his head up at the mention and throws a friendly wave at the ward’s direction.

“you made. a _star._ ” jinyoung begins, emphasizing each phrase as if he’s unsure if his master has the needed comprehension to understand whatever he is saying. “that looks _exactly_ like your d—“

it only takes an icy glare from the star witch to keep him from speaking further.

“you know what,” the ward raises his hands in surrender, his expression screaming not-so-subtle exasperation. “whatever. you’re an _adult_ and i trust that you know what you’re doing.” a pause, a quirked brow. “you _do_ know what you’re doing, right, hyung?”

minhyun gives him a tight-lipped smile as an answer. jinyoung has no time to decipher what it means.

“ _okay_.” he takes one last peek at the star before addressing his master. “i _can_ order him around, right?”

 

* * *

 

minhyun doesn't make stars anymore.

everything in his shop has been going on as usual; the little temple remains as a pristine vision in the seoul forest, jinyoung spends his mornings sweeping the grounds. there is an addition of a sentient star that is a practical mirror to the star witch's deceased lover that helps with the chores and what not, but everything is the same—familiar, _usual_.

 _except_ , minhyun doesn't make stars anymore.

"that's the third one this week, _hyung,_ " jinyoung states, a bit of scolding obvious in his tone. "the month has barely begun and you've already turned down six requests."

"i've told them," minhyun banters, barely even looking from the tome he is perusing. "i do not make stars anymore."

"but how about business? what about—"

"if _that_ is what you're worried about," minhyun begins, his hues radiating an eerie cold that sends shivers down the young ward's spine. "i am glad to inform you that i have enough for even until your own grandchild's education."

 _that's not it,_ jinyoung thinks, but he refrains from further argument. instead, he leaves the tray by his master's table, lips pursed as he bows out to do the rest of his morning chores.

 

* * *

 

he thinks its _pride,_ really—pride that makes him stare at his creation for hours on end. jinyoung likes to jest that he rarely blinks when he’s staring ( _admiring, ‘nyoungie._ semantics.), but it’s hard not to when _he’s_ just so perfect, so majestic, so—

the loud crash of a glass jar meeting its untimely end on wooden floor interrupts his thoughts. seongwoo yelps and whines and almost curses, only switching to a smooth, bashful grin when he realizes that minhyun’s eyes are on him. 

“sorry,” seongwoo scratches the back of his neck along with his crooked grin. minhyun feels as if he’s been stabbed through the heart. “i’ll go clean it.”

—so similar to _his_ seongwoo that it takes so much for him to realize that he is not.

for example, _his_ seongwoo will never volunteer to clean up _anything_ , even if it was his fault.

“no, dear, it’s okay.” minhyun snaps out of his reverie and walks forth, hands already poised to cast a regeneration spell on the broken jar. but _this_ seongwoo is quicker, a star truly made to serve, and the offending pieces of glass have been collected into a dust pan, ready to be disposed of, before the star witch could even begin the necessary incantation.

“wouldn’t want your pretty feet to get hurt now, do we?” _this_ seongwoo says with a wink, and minhyun fights every urge to stab himself with a glass shard. “i’ll take care of these—you can go back to sitting pretty, _minhyunnie_.”

“o…okay.” minhyun mutters, almost wordless, jaw slack as he watches seongwoo go through the motions of glass disposal. a light ache throbs against his chest.

 _it’s not him,_ he reminds himself, no matter how perfect his creation.

 

* * *

 

it is hours before dawn. seongwoo's skin holds a subtle glow underneath its surface, and the soft light casts shallow shadows against the shelves of the star witch's study. the walls are lined with books and scrolls and little trinket jars, arranged neatly against aged wood— _mahogany and oak_ , to be exact.

in the flickering darkness, minhyun's beauty holds a sinister edge.

"what's that?" seongwoo asks, eyes trained on the tome minhyun has been perusing. he reads a bit from what the low light allows him to see. " _urban legends and_ —"

"it's _nothing_ ," minhyun interrupts, uncharacteristically dismissive. he closes the rather hefty tome with a loud thud. "what are you doing up?"

"i had a feeling you weren't asleep," seongwoo answers, schooling surprise and suspicion off of his chiseled features. "it's late—early, really. shouldn't you be in bed?"

minhyun thinks that _his_ seongwoo would never suggest such a preposterous thing.

"how _sweet_ of you," there is a sliver of menace in the eyesmile the star witch gives. seongwoo's eyes watch him calmly put the book in his drawer, unflinching when the compartment closes with an echo. "do not worry yourself. i'll be in dream land soon."

"okay," seongwoo feels that it is useless to argue. "i'll prepare tea—"

"don't _bother_ ," again, minhyun feels miffed that his creation is going off-script, but he keeps his expression flat, unreadable. _his_ seongwoo would know that he likes—

"then _milk_?"

minhyun prays that the star did not hear the skip in his heartbeat.

"if you insist," minhyun swallows whatever surprise he has been feeling. "do go ahead; i still need to fix a couple of things. i'll be with you before you know it."

seongwoo looks as if he is about to argue, but sets-off with a half-hearted nod instead.

in the flickering darkness, minhyun rips a page from the tome on urban legends.

_to resurrect a fallen star._

 

* * *

 

jinyoung asks him about it, the ripped page in one of his well-read tomes.

“it’s an urban legend, hyung,” his ward whines, half a warning. “please tell me you don’t—”

“we are urban legends,” he answers, and jinyoung doesn’t like the indecipherable twinkle in his dark hues. “that does not make us any less real, though.”

 

* * *

 

seongwoo stumbles, his back meeting the cold floor of the living room. minhyun hovers over him, fingers tightly clutching around the thin fabric of his shirt. it’s the first time he’s seen the star witch like this— _his_ memories tell him otherwise, but he knows better—dazed and drunk and slurry, watery eyes bloodshot and red from tears that just won’t stop falling.

“do you not _love_ me?” minhyun asks, syllables choked in between sobs.

“i _do_ ,” comes seongwoo’s simple answer. “my heart yearns for y—”

he evades yet another attempt for a drunken osculation. minhyun does not look pleased.

“then why won’t you kiss me?” his fingers grip tighter, higher, now against seongwoo’s collar. “i _want_ you, seongwoo.” another attempt, another escape. “ _please._ ”

seongwoo almost loses his own mind with all the pleading.

“i am not the one you want,” he motions, his own fingers gentle around minhyun’s wrists. “i’m not _him_.”

it takes three words for minhyun to break. seongwoo carries him to bed after a good hour of sobbing, his shirt soaked through with the bitter tears of a celestial witch.

“he needs better ways of coping,” jinyoung quips as he leans by the doorway, brow quirked at the large stain on seongwoo’s shirt. “he’s such a talented star witch, but he’s _so,_ incredibly—”

seongwoo decides that it is better to face a nineteen-year-old’s wrath than let him speak ill of his master. his fingers do make a rather satisfying sound against the boy’s forehead, though.

“hush, you.”

seongwoo spies a framed picture on the wall above jinyoung’s head. it’s a happy scene—minhyun and the man who looks so much like him. he knows where it is, what has happened during that day, can piece it together through patches of memory. but he knows that it is not _him_.

jinyoung rubs the reddening spot on his forehead and shakes his head at what he sees. “whatever. you’re waking him up tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

the morning sun is almost an insult. minhyun squints at the offending rays slipping through his curtains, groaning as he buries his face further into his pillow. his head throbs with the pain of a hangover, but he knows that most of the headache comes from bad decisions he can barely remember.

and then, _footsteps_. there’s a slight shuffling of fabric and steel, and sun’s rays disappear behind curtains being drawn.

star witches were never really meant for the morning.

“how are you feeling?” comes the question, carried by a voice he would rather not hear. patches of what has transpired the night before flash against his conscious with a vengeance, and minhyun prays to every existing god for some source of quick peace.

he feels the bed sink as seongwoo sits on the edge of his bed, senses a hand making its way to his temple. he moves so his hair does not meet his fingers. in his heart of hearts, he feels a dull tug of pain.

“i’m sorry,” minhyun mutters, unsure about which event he is apologizing about. he hears a low chuckle, feels a warm hand brush stray locks from his forehead.

it must be the headache; he feels about ready to start bawling.

“it’s okay,” seongwoo reassures, his fingers gentle as they rake through the star witch’s mop of uncombed brown. “it happens to the best of us.”

silence envelopes their little scene, a pause of peace in their fragile moment. the smell of eggs and friend meat soon find their way into minhyun’s chambers, and a low laugh tumbles out of seongwoo’s lips at the sudden grumble of the celestial witch’s stomach. minhyun flushes from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, groaning as he attempts to disappear into his duvet.

another chuckle. minhyun curses the perfectionism in his craft.

“jinyoung’s already making breakfast,” seongwoo states, half an invitation. the bed creaks as he stands, preparing to make his exit. “i’ll tell him to whip up some hangover soup f—”

“ _do you love me_?”

minhyun doesn’t see it, but he knows that the star would be blinking rapidly with the sudden query.

(he is.)

it takes a beat before seongwoo answers. “i do.”

the star witch bites his lip to keep himself from saying more. seongwoo takes this as his cue to continue.

“but love means wanting the best for the beloved, even if it’s something beyond themselves.”

there is silence, followed by the shuffling of feet.  seongwoo leaves with a gentle call.

“we’ll wait for you at the table.”

he blames the rays of the sun for the tears that roll after he hears his door closing.

 

* * *

 

there is a rule that every star witch must follow: as they are beings that are closely tied to the celestial bodies, they are mandated to stay in homes on high altitudes, from high-rise penthouses to little temples atop mountain clearings. they cannot leave unless it is a lunar holiday.

today is the blue moon, and jinyoung has done his best to push his sulking master out of the comforts of his own home. something about spring cleaning, even though it is the middle of summer, and minhyun has long been unparalleled when it comes to neatness.

“go out on a _date_ or something,” the young ward practically commands, shoving both him and his star out of the cozy temple. “you still need some fresh air, you know!”

minhyun doesn’t understand him. (yes, he does.)

he’s perfectly fine. (no, he is _not_.)

“kids these days,” minhyun mutters as he begins the downward stroll to the foot of the mansion. “well,” he turns to seongwoo, urges him to walk beside him instead of behind. “might as well go somewhere, right? he won’t really let us in when he’s in that kind of mood.”

“must be _puberty_ ,” seongwoo quips, and minhyun lets himself be amused at the familiarity. “is there anywhere you want to go to?”

minhyun hums, tapping his chin in thought. “nowhere in particular. where do you want to go?”

in his many years with _his_ seongwoo, there has been three places in which he would drag minhyun for a date—everland, the hongdae streets, or the plaza at dongdaemun. he expects at least one of these places to come up as an answer; he did imbue _this_ seongwoo’s core with as many memories as he could. but nothing of the sort comes up in his reply.

instead, they spend their day beside an unnamed cliff, chewing on snacks as they watch the blue moon rise above the city. surprisingly, minhyun doesn’t find the off-script act unpleasant.

the night sky darkens, and the stars begin to illuminate its murky canvas.

“do you miss him?” seongwoo asks, out of the blue, and minhyun tears his gaze from the star he swears has been winking at him for the past few minutes. “you know, the one wh—”

“i _do,_ ” comes the automatic answer. “painfully so.”

minhyun doesn’t realize that he has been crying until seongwoo wipes his cheek with a soft palm.

“am i helping?” the star asks, cradling his cheek with a familiar gentleness.

it takes minhyun a moment to answer. _this_ seongwoo is modeled to be like _his_ seongwoo, but there has been too many instances where he has gone off-script for minhyun to even keep thinking that _this_ was _he_. he isn’t. but in the months that have passed, the soul crushing pain in his heart has subsided into a low throbbing, and perhaps, _perhaps—_

“you are,” he finally replies, placing his own hand over seongwoo’s as he nuzzles against his palm.

for once, minhyun feels like he isn’t lying.

 

* * *

 

“he’s not coming back?”

minhyun falls to a crumpled heap against the grass, hands shaking from the aftermath of his incantation. tears fall from his eyes in drops, watering the soil beneath his knees. the night air is damp, yet it smells of dust and ash. the ritual is an urban legend, and it failed to do what it has promised—resurrecting a fallen star through remnants and fragments.

“he’s not—” his hands ball into fists and he is pounding the ground in frustration. his whines turn into desperate screams. “he’s not coming back…”

he feels lithe arms wrap around his form and pull him close, an act that is both familiar and foreign. broken, the celestial witch burrows unto seongwoo’s chest, clutching tight against the fabric of his shirt as he sobs, his cries forming a cacophony with the sounds of the forest.

“ _i’m sorry,_ ” he hears his star say, but he shakes his head and hopes he is understood that _he_ has nothing to apologize for.

seongwoo is dead. the seongwoo that hugs him is not _his_ seongwoo, but a star he has made as his mirror image, to cope with the loss of a lover.

“he’s not coming back,” he wails, and seongwoo pulls him closer.

through the night, with the air smelling like ash, minhyun stays in seongwoo’s arms, but he knows—has _always_ known—that it is not _his_ seongwoo.

but _this_ seongwoo is warm.

minhyun thinks— _feels_ —that one day, _warm_ will be enough.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you. i'm sorry. i love you!


End file.
